“Can this wait till tomorrow?” he asks, slowly rocking in the chair next to me, his eyes tired, and I wonder when the last time he slept properly was. I may or may not have spelled the couch to be firmer each night.
“It’s said during the full moon the veil lifts ever so slightly, letting the spirits engage with their loved ones,” I say cryptically, looking at the way the porch lights glow against his sun-kissed skin.
“Okay?” he sighs. I can tell he doesn’t want to be here. I don’t want him here either.
“I’m thinking the spirits can help figure out our little problem.”
“And what fucking spirits are going to help us?” he asks.
“We’re not humans. We have generations of witches and shifters in our lineage. Do you truly think we walk this world alone?”
Silas takes a few moments to process my words before sighing and resting his head against the rocking chair, exhaustion clear in the way he slowly shuts his eyes before glaring at me.
“What does communicating with the spiritual realm entail?”
“You’re not going to like it,” I tell him, standing from my rocking chair and heading to the dining room.
I’ve already had candles burning on the table and the ouija board set in the center. As soon as Silas walks in, he stops in his tracks.
“Oh, hell no.”
“Wait. They have bad press. Humans who don’t know what they’re doing, inviting the wrong spirits into the world. It isn’t like that.”
“You can promise me?” he asks and I have to refrain myself from smirking.
The big bad wolf is scared of my little board.
“I promise. I only need a drop of blood.”
He swallows, but holds out his hand. It’s large and calloused as I tap his fingertip with my wand, getting a single drop and placing it on the crystal in the center before doing the same to my finger.
“Sit,” I tell him, and he actually listens. “We’re specifically going to call on our ancestors for help. See if any of them have any guidance on how to break this hex.”
I hold out my hand and he glances at it like I have a disease before placing his palm in mine. He squeezes my hand when the flames rise to a higher level around us and I take a deep breath channeling all that was given to me tonight.
I’m not a medium. I don’t have the gift of seeing the other side. But I do have magic. I have ancestors on the other side of the veil who are looking after the coven.
I flip the planchette on the side where it says hello, placing it on the middle of the board.
“As friends we gather, hearts are true, familial spirits near, we call to you,” I say, and squeeze Silas’ hand, arching a brow at him to join me in the chant. He sighs heavily, his gaze searching my home, but reluctantly joins the chant.
We say it six more times before I ask my first question.
“Are there any familial spirits with us?” I ask, moving both of our hands on the planchette as it slides quickly over to the word, yes.
Silas goes to pull away and I hold his hand there.
“Can you help us fix this hex?” I ask.
It quickly slides over to no, and both Silas and I sigh in frustration.
“Can I ask who we’re talking to?”
The planchette moves swiftly over the letters. C-O-L-L-I-N-S.
I furrow my brow and glance over at Silas. “Collins?” I ask, and Silas frowns before something clicks.
“I didn’t think they were in my ancestral line, but my mother was less than helpful when I found her,” he says.
